By STAN STAPP

Forty-nine years ago (when I was associated with the North Central Outlook), I read an item in the Seattle P-I written by Douglass Welch, my favorite reporter at the time. You youngsters should know that Welch had a delightful sense of humor which he employed weekly in reporting the Seattle Park Board meetings - probably doubling the readership of what otherwise would be a dull routine report.

In this case, however, Welch was on another subject, commenting on a letter that had appeared in a Canadian newspaper, the Victoria Times. The letter-writer wrote that she knew of a woman visitor to Victoria "who had a Siamese cat named 'Bassy' and a rabbit named 'Thumper'; that they had formed a romantic attachment for each other; and eventually a family of Catabbits resulted.

To make a rather long story short, the visitor was a professional writer who at the time was somewhere in the Queen Charlotte Islands working on a children's book about her cat - and was known for her "lively imagination."

I thought I smelled a rat there, but like all BETTER newspaper journalists, decided to at least make an investigation - which was more than I can say for the P-I or the Victoria Times.

Usually such a story in the Outlook would be handled by William Randolph, our star reporter/photographer. But we hadn't seen him since his assignment to photograph "Little Girl," a Bengal tiger at the Woodland Park Zoo.

So Little Oscar, our cub reporter and sports prognosticator, was put in charge of our newly created Dumb Animal Department, and given the assignment.

Armed with 75 cents in cash, a pinhole camera, and a double peanut butter sandwich, Oscar was told to "just dig up the facts, ma'am."

Several days later, just as we were going to press, Li'l Oscar returned, striding confidentially into the Outlook newsroom, waving a news story, and - was that a photo?

It was!

Oscar said he'd just returned from a boat trip to Canada; had interviewed an authoress; and had actually photographed a Catabbit - something no other paper could claim! He gave us no other details, stating firmly, "I have to protect my informants."

Most amazing, of course, was his photo of a Catabbit: all-while body and ears of a rabbit and the gray furry head and striped tail of a cat.

What a scoop! I tore apart the first page of the Outlook and replaced it with the photo and story, and wrote the headline: "Dailies Sleep on Catabbit Story; Li'l Oscar Digs Up Photostatic Proof." Oscar's story in the Outlook was picked up by some other papers, including the weekly Newport Miner, which asked permission to print the photo and story in their next edition. "We serve a farming community and that picture of a Catabbit would knock our readers reeling," wrote Bill Streamer, of the Miner staff.

And, years later, in 1994 to be exact, Dear Abby in her Seattle Times column became involved in a controversy dealing with a "Cabbit." Note: not a Catabbit. A Cabbit, a doctor of veterinary medicine, explained Abby "was actually a Manx cat - which has no tail." Our Catabbit not only had a tail, but also two more letters in its name.

After a half-century of protecting Little Oscar's "informants" perhaps it would not be unfair at this time to reveal a few of the previously non-mentioned details. Little Oscar didn't actually go up to Canada (the little fibber) - he didn't have to. He went to his home in Haller Lake (2122 N. 117th St.) out into the backyard and photographed his pet cat and one of his two rabbits. He then made a photo of each, cut out the head and tail of the cat, and pasted them on the photo of the rabbit, and Voila - a Catabbit!

Actually, I now admit, I (Stan Stapp) was Li'l Oscar, masquerading under that pseudonym - which I'd previously done before on several other occasions - when it seemed the prudent thing to do.

* * *

Although Rev. Dale Turner and his wife Leone have been married for 51 years, he still remembers the first time he kissed her. My wife Dorothy and I frequently run into the Turners on Sundays after church, lunching at the U Village Burgermaster. Turner, former pastor of the University Congregational Church, has performed over 3,000 weddings. "Marriage is not made in heaven," he told a Seattle Times reporter. "It comes in kits. You have to put it together yourselves."

* * *

The death of cartoonist Charles Schulz, creator of the Peanuts comic strip and such characters as Charlie Brown, Snoopy and Lucy, was a loss to millions of his fans. But we are grateful that reruns are continuing in the Seattle Times. Years ago, Dorothy and I attended a costume dance put on by our state newspaper association, the WNPA. I was costumed as Charlie Brown, wearing a white T-shirt on which I'd painted black zigzags (a la Charlie's usual dress). Dorothy came as the Great Pumpkin, decked out in a huge orange pumpkin made of corduroy cloth, about three feet in diameter, filled with balloons, and showing as much skin as possible above and below. I thought I'd be the star of that match. But, no - all the guys were squeezing her balloons - and the gals were ignoring me. Hmmm. Do you suppose I should have brought a football?

* * *

We now have a new street light in front of our house. Dorothy worked for several years trying to get the City to install it. There had been one there previously, but apparently when a new transformer was mounted on the pole, its replacement was overlooked. Now, the previously dark area on our street is brightly lit, and possibly much safer for pedestrians.

* * *

The first thing I do every morning is check the P-I obits. If my name isn't there I figure I'm probably good for one more day at least. When I mentioned this to my doc, James Coghlan, he politely inquired: "Well, what would you do if your name WAS THERE?" I pondered that dilemma for a few seconds and replied: "I'd wait until afternoon and then check the Times for a second opinion."

Now, what do I do? The Times has become a morning paper!

* * *

I recently told you about "Goldie" our elder goldfish, the one who jumped out of his half-whiskey barrel home. I found him lying on the gravel floor of our greenhouse, picked him up and put him back. How long he'd lain there I don't know - but in a couple of days he was frisky as usual. Well, about a week later he did the same damn thing, ending on the gravel again. I again put him in the barrel, and again he was as good as new! Since then, we've lowered the water level to about two inches below the barrel rim. Can anyone tell me how long a goldfish can live out of water?

* * *

In my April column, I related the story of the Mark of the Beast - that dreaded 666 rascal with 10 horns, seven heads, and the voice of a dragon - who had invaded Claire's Pantry restaurant in Lake City. Not only once, but twice, each time charging me $6.66 for lunch. My waitress, Julie, advised that it might be prudent to pay the bill FAST! In addition, Alicia, the cashier, revealed that 6666 was her birthday.

The Beast is apparently still hanging around the City. The Seattle Weekly recently headlined an article, "Is Seattle Going to Hell?" It then reported that Starbucks customers have been noticing that certain food orders always total $6.66, such as random combinations of muffins, scones, lattes, and frappucinos. "Is the company in league with Satan to get us addicted to its wares?"

Then I had lunch at the U Village Burgermaster, and my table number placard was 66 on one side, and 66 on the other side. The big question is: Why is the Beast only picking on restaurants?

Say, have you noticed, if you mix up the letters in S-A-T-A-N they spell out S-T-A-N?